Oblivion
by fadingstardust
Summary: "Something did happen. Something bad... worse than bad, even. But do you know how you forgot what happened? Do you know how lost your memories, Arthur?" Ever since Alfred and Arthur returned from a parallel world, both struggle with their return to normalcy. However, is peace really an option? Sequel to Orchard of Mines, and a collaboration between hetafan13 and myself.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Sorry for such a long hiatus! This took longer than expected to get up and running, and you can blame coursework for swallowing my muse whole. Anyhow, here is the sequel, as promised. I will try and update it regularly to the best of my ability with such demanding courses.

* * *

Alfred sighs, supporting his chin in his hands with his elbows propped up on the polished oak table before him. It's been one week since Arthur's memories had been erased, and Alfred been unsuccessful in achieving even the slightest bit of progress with him. It seems like every time he tries to get close to Arthur, the Brit comes up with some excuse to remove himself from Alfred's presence before he can even get two words past his lips.

Before the events in the other world, Alfred would have probably been annoyed—or maybe even angry—at this kind of behavior. Undoubtedly, he would interpret said behavior as Arthur's stubbornness, or possibly as Arthur's detest for him. If it came to that, Alfred would try and convince himself that he feels the same way.

But now?

Now, every time Arthur runs away from him, it's like a knife is being driven straight through his heart. He remembers. He remembers how those eyes that refuse to meet his gaze looked at him with such love, affection, and adoration (and fear, too, as he won't delude himself into forgetting that part either) only a week ago. He remembers how that voice that now only addresses him with a cold sort of detachment used to be filled with gratitude. He remembers being able to just move over to Arthur and pick him up in order to hold him against his chest, and he remembers being able to openly hug and kiss Arthur to soothe his nerves. He remembers being able to shower Arthur with love and affection like he'd always dreamed of doing, and most of all, he remembers his feelings being reciprocated...

Now, it is over.

Arthur has gone back to hating him—_or acting like he hates me, anyway... either way, it still hurts_—and there's nothing he can do about it because Arthur refuses to be around him. Additionally, Alfred is still reluctant to be too forward in forcing Arthur to hear him out.

He suddenly feels a poke at his side, causing him to squirm a bit in his uncomfortable chair before turning to frown at the person next to him.

"Mattie, what was that for?" he whispers.

"It's your turn to go up and speak!"

Alfred blinks, having forgotten for a moment that he was at a World Meeting… For which he actually had to contribute something, to his chagrin. He plasters on a smile, avoiding the critical eye of his twin with a hasty laugh.

"I totally knew that! I was just building up suspense, that's all!"

Under the careful watch of expectant gazes, Alfred gathers up the papers in front of him and travels up to the podium. He begins speaking without warning, hardly even paying attention to what he's saying. He hardly sees the point, as he knows how to act out his own farce in his sleep after this many centuries.

_I'm sick of this. I'm sick of pretending, and I'm sick of having to hide what I really think and feel... But any time I try and act serious, everyone either freaks out or just doesn't take me seriously at all—least of all Arthur. He only took me seriously after what happened in that other world…._

Alfred isn't going to deny it: there's a part of him, however small it may be, that understands why America did everything he did. Understanding did not come with approval, yet Alfred can only imagine what it would feel like to be able to speak seriously and intelligently and actually be heard and respected. Yet after seeing what happened to America, he's much too afraid of himself to attempt walking down that path.

After exposing his audience to thirty minutes of clip art and select scenes from Indiana Jones to emphasize his point (whatever it may be), Alfred hears a few annoyed groans and spots some eye rolling. Other members of the conference just plain ignore him, and he can see Arthur trying to make it a point not to look anywhere in his general vicinity. After catching this sight, he finds himself unable to keep up his happy-go-lucky façade up for much longer.

Alfred wraps up the presentation with some conclusion that he just put together off the top of his head, which may or may not have been a quote from a Pixar movie, before going back to his seat. His transparent smile—_or is it a real smile? I don't even know anymore_—is slowly rotting on his face as he hears commentary from the crowd on how relieved they are that he is back in his chair at last.

"... Al..."

Alfred is startled slightly by Matthew's quiet voice, having momentarily forgotten he had a friend in the room.

"Al, there's been something... off about you for a little while now. Is everything okay?"

_No, everything's not okay! Within a week, the person I love with all my heart was sent to an alternate universe, tortured by an alternate version of myself, and had someone else's memories put in their head! I've had to perform surgery to fix his chest, and I had to wipe his memories of everything… Including the fact that the two of us confessed our love for each other! Now he's back to hating me, and I'm stuck as the only person with the memories from that world. On top of that, I've had nightmares every night about Arthur being tortured while I can't help him, and I can't even call him to check up on him because he'd have no idea what I'm talking about or why I'm worried, and…! _

He realizes that he's mentally rambling and hasn't exactly answered Matthew's question, so he just shrugs and wills his smile to widen as he forces out a laugh. "Mattie, you worry too much! I'm the hero, so I'm totally fine!"

Matthew looks less than convinced, but he only sighs, already able to tell that Alfred's not going to talk. "... Well, if anything ever _is_ wrong, you know you can talk to me, right?"

Alfred smile turns honest with gratitude. "Yeah, I know. Thanks, Mattie."

Matthew returns his smile in kind, relaxing back in his chair. "No problem, Al. What are brothers for?"

With a light nudge to Alfred's arm, Matthew goes back to paying attention to the next speaker while avidly taking notes. Alfred instead entertains himself by blatantly staring at Arthur with the goal of lasting for the next two hours until the meeting is adjourned for lunch.

Arthur, for his credit, can feel Alfred's eyes on him. He hasn't the faintest as to how to get the other to cut it out, reduced to keeping his head down for the entirety of the presentations.

Even when Alfred looked away to rummage for a McDonald's apple pie, Arthur could feel his bloody _thoughts_ on him with the way Alfred kept him in his peripherals at all time. He took to completely avoiding looking at the twit at all, focusing on his teacup in front of his binder of notes… Which were coincidentally empty.

He knows damn well that Alfred has been rather persistent lately. It wasn't that boyish persistence he always had about him—no, something had changed. His eyes were softer, gentler... Quite simply, he appeared to be all knowing. The sympathetic, pitying nature of Alfred's gaze only frustrated Arthur more.

_Why is that prat acting like this?_ Arthur could barely make eye contact with him lest he wanted to be scarlet-faced and a bundle of nerves in the face of Alfred's boorish, direct, and determined gaze. But determined to… what, exactly?

There was no way he felt the… _same_, and Arthur was sure of that fact. Alfred simply wanted to act like a child who stares at you until you notice them or look away. It was evident that he wanted to get a rise out of Arthur. None of that was novel since the day they joined ranks in the twentieth century.

He clenches at the elegant pen that he had borrowed from Kiku with near enough force to snap it in half. Why here? Why now? Why did he have to do this in front of everyone? Was he trying to humiliate him? Or did he….

_... This is stupid. Alfred hates my company. He just wants me to explode so this meeting can be adjourned and he can flock to that sweets shop we passed on the way here on our lunch break._

Arthur can feel his cheeks flush with indignation, and he eyes Alfred to see if he had given up. Each time he sent a vicious glare at the other, Alfred hadn't budged.

On the contrary, Alfred is at least slightly satisfied as he sees Arthur start to slightly squirm under his unrelenting gaze after about an hour. He had to give the other credit for endurance. Even more promising is the second hour, during which Arthur sports a faint blush and lets his eyes flicker in Alfred's direction. Yet Alfred can only celebrate this small victory for a few minutes at the most before Arthur bolts out of the room at the very millisecond that the meeting is adjourned for lunch.

Alfred sighs before donning a determined expression and chasing after Arthur, calling, "Arthur! Artie, wait!"

Due to the rather prehistoric nature of the elevator, he quickly catches up to Arthur and grabs his arm to keep him from—or at least in Alfred's imagination—jumping into the elevator shaft out of desperation. He tries his best to keep his grip relaxed out of the fear of accidentally hurting Arthur, yet he holds firm enough that Arthur is, at the very least, forced to come to a stop.

Fearful that Alfred can hear his heart thudding wildly, Arthur panics and shrugs Alfred's hand off of his arm while glancing away.

"What is it?" he growls, albeit shakily. "Can't you bloody see that you've been on my case the whole meeting? What is it with you?"

Despite feeling wounded by the tone of Arthur's voice, Alfred takes Arthur's light blush as at least _one_ good sign. Thus, he proceeds to speak, pausing when he finds himself suddenly unsure of what to say. He's been focusing so much on just trying to get Arthur to stay in his presence for more than two seconds that he completely forgot to think about what he would say once he actually could say it.

_Well, damn. I guess I'm just gonna have to wing it, huh? _

"I just... You've been avoiding me for so long! I just wanted to talk. I mean, well… About what happened at the last meeting…." Alfred glances away nervously, at a blatant and painful loss for words.

_Dammit, of all times, why do I have to blank out on what to say now? _

He carries on, mumbling, "I just… I-I don't know, but it just slipped out, and I didn't mean to say something like that… I really didn't..."

Arthur stumbles to a conclusion before Alfred can even finish, raising his hand in irritation. Upon close inspection, one could see the way in which his fingers where trembling.

"St-stop! No more, all right? I don't need to hear it. It's the truth, isn't it?"

His eyes turn up to Alfred, accusing in nature as he searches the younger man's face. As Arthur contemplates their situation, he offers a weak, bitter laugh. The only sound that follows is the ding of the elevator as the doors open for Arthur, inviting him in. He ignores the offer for the moment, and the elevator makes its trek back to the first floor with an excruciatingly slow pace and an obnoxious rattle. Tearing his attention away from this, Arthur forces a shallow breath to swell inside his lungs before he dares to continue with a much more scathing commentary.

"No matter," he offers quite coldly. "I... I hate that you're like this, Alfred. You simply refuse to let me forget that I lost, and you're so proud of that, aren't you? Of course, you're one who led them all away. So go ahead and despise me... at least the feeling is mutual."

Alfred's eyes widen at that, and his heart clenches painfully in his chest as tears start to cloud his vision. _No… Dammit, not now. I can't break down. Not now…._ As if he is swallowing fragments of broken glass, he forces a smile that never spreads past his lips. He releases Arthur's arm ever so slowly, looking down as he speaks.

"You... Of course. Why wouldn't you hate me, after what I said?" He shakes his head slightly. "But no matter what you may think, that isn't the truth. I'm not proud that you're hurting, and I don't hate you in the least. T-that's all I wanted to say. Sorry for bothering you, _England_."

He swiftly turns on his heel and walks away, moving as fast as he can for the stairs so that it's impossible for Arthur to catch up to him. Not even caring about the fact that the meeting was not over, Alfred leaves the building, trying his best to hold back his tears.

_His memories weren't the only thing that got erased, apparently. He's never said that he hated me before. I think that machine may have erased his feelings, too. Arthur doesn't love me anymore. He doesn't even like me anymore. Arthur hates me…._

After that, no one sees or hears from Alfred for over a month.

* * *

**A/N: **I am on a break from work at the moment, so you can expect an update within the next week. Until then!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Don't let the brevity scare you; although this is a shorter chapter, the story has a long way to go. My courses start up this week, but I have the next couple chapters in the editing process, so I should be able to update each week or so for a little while before the going gets rough in terms of coursework.

* * *

The next time anyone sees Alfred is at the next World Meeting—most likely because it's being held in the United States.

Arthur had been very much miserable in that time. In fact, he hardly noticed he was standing in the rain in Times Square for over half an hour this morning, and a passerby had even offered to lend him their umbrella.

He honestly didn't know what he was lacking, or so he tried to tell himself. There was a hole within him that couldn't be filled, and he tried to satiate it with anything he could think of. None of his favorite things—reading, taking tea at his favorite places, gardening, or embroidery—were able to lift his spirits. He knew what he needed—he just didn't want to admit it.

All this time without hearing from Alfred burned him. Part of him was too stubborn to apologize, but every time he mustered the courage and rang Alfred's house, there was no answer. That's not to say he called many times, and he might have even hung up before someone answered. Even still, the near "I hate you" still lingered fresh on his tongue, and each night Alfred's hurt look returned to haunt him. Had he managed to single-handedly hurt the one he… loved… in the worst possible way? The way Alfred called him _England_, and not by their human names, seemed self-explanatory.

Hoping to shake out all the remaining water from his hair, Arthur heads up to the conference room, figuring that he'll have a chance to speak with Alfred today. Despite his intentions, as he enters, he is relieved to find Alfred's face is not among those already inside the room. With a sigh, he takes his seat, twirling his pen over and over in his host's absence.

Indeed, Alfred—despite being the host of this World Meeting—is the last to arrive. When he walks into the room, all idle conversation seems to grind to a halt as everyone's eyes turn to him. Even the most oblivious of nations are able to notice the change in Alfred's entire demeanor, for Alfred has left off his signature bomber jacket in favor of wearing a more professional looking business suit, and he carries a briefcase like most of the more serious nations do. It was a rather large improvement from stuffing the papers in the pockets of his bomber jacket.

"My apologies for being late," he says while looking around. "I was held up by some... personal matters, and I seem to have lost track of time."

From his position in the doorway, he is able to bask in everyone's surprised and slightly worried expressions—_worried for themselves, no doubt, and not for me_—with a serious, almost apathetic expression.

Arthur deduces right off the bat that the Alfred present today was not entirely… Alfred. He is dressed the part of a responsible individual, and his visible notes are highlighted in various colors with annotations scrawled in the margins.

"… Were they grilling up a sense of responsibility at McDonald's, or something?" someone inquires from the back of the room, and Arthur finds he is much too dumbfounded to say much else.

Without another glance at his quite captive audience, he walks towards the front of the room, taking his place in the host's seat at the head of the table while stating, "However, it seems that everyone's arrived, so we can begin the meeting immediately."

No one objects to this, as everyone is still stuck on trying to figure out exactly how to react to Alfred's peculiar behavior. Alfred looks at Ludwig expectantly, who steps up as the first of many speakers. Even so, Alfred feels the eyes of many different nations on him. He can tell they are silently questioning why he's acting so differently, and Alfred mentally scoffs at them.

_It figures. They're annoyed if I play the part of the fool, yet they think I'm acting odd if I try and act serious. I really can't win, so why bother trying?_

Most of all, he doesn't even think about glancing in Arthur's direction, completely blocking Arthur out of his mind entirely. This is something Arthur notices plain as day, and with a guilt-ridden look, he resigns to keeping his gaze down at the surface of his tea inside its cup.

After an hour or two, it's his turn to speak, and Alfred doesn't delay, nor disappoint. He doesn't complain or joke around in the same sort of fashion that he'd "normally" do. Instead, he simply gets up and begins speaking, his tone and expression both gravely serious. His tone is clipped and brisk as he speaks in a manner that leaves everyone shocked and confused, and he utilizes so much jargon that even nations like Ludwig, Ivan, and Eduard—known for their intelligence especially in fields relating to either science or engineering—have trouble keeping up with him.

From across the room, Arthur drops his teacup mid sip, hurriedly mopping at the mess with Francis' scarf. For the first time in hours, his gaze is glued to Alfred in a blatant stare. His eyes roam, taking in Alfred's attire and eyes, causing a deep frown to settle on Arthur's features.

_Alfred is... What is it about him…?_

"... And that's it," Alfred concludes, shuffling his papers back into what Arthur determines is a _binder_, of all things. "Any questions? No? Good. Then I propose we take this time to break for lunch."

Ludwig looks as if he's about to speak out against this idea, but one sharp look from Alfred is all that's needed to get him to change his mind.

"Yes, well… then I suppose we will," Ludwig offers hesitantly, and everyone else takes this as their cue to grab their things and head out for lunch, eager to get out of the stifling atmosphere surrounding the conference room.

Alfred, despite being the one to cause said stifling atmosphere, is actually the first to leave, gathering up his papers in his briefcase and storming out of the room, muttering under his breath about how he "can't stand to be around the irritatingly incompetent natures of his fellow nations for too long a period of time without it severely affecting his capacity for rational thought."

In that instant, Arthur finally pinpoints it. Alfred was so very _cold_, and so devoid of life. That light that sparkled in his eyes every day, that reckless ambition... it had dwindled down to nothing but a dark abyss.

Arthur panics, like he's seen this before, having to take large breaths to calm himself. _Nonsense. Alfred has never been like this before! This is serious._

He quickly shoves away from the table so quickly that his chair flies backwards and trips up Antonio, yet Arthur has no time nor desire for an apology as he rushes after Alfred with a strict sense of urgency. Although he has no idea what he could possibly say, that doesn't stop him from calling out to the other.

"A-Alfred! Alfred, wait!" he cries, running around Alfred's side in order to step into his path. "Wh-what... what's gotten into you, for Christ's sake?"

Alfred raises an eyebrow as Arthur steps in his path, the frown on his face bordering between annoyed and pissed off. Taking the hint, Arthur wills himself to keep talking, examining Alfred with concern.

"I haven't heard from you... and I thought... Well, I thought that something might have happened, but this is…."

"So, what, if I act serious and intelligent, that means that something is wrong with me?" Alfred remarks with a scowl, frost lingering in his ice blue eyes. "Well, I have news for you, England: I'm not the idiot that everyone seems to think I am—far from it, actually. I'm just sick of playing the part of the dancing fool for everyone else's amusement. Every time I even attempt to speak intelligently, it's always regarded as another aspect of my routine, my farce, and I always backed down." He pauses for a moment to take in a shallow breath. "I was always so discouraged... but not anymore. Why bother keeping up the act any longer? I'll eventually gain everyone's respect like this," his look darkens slightly, "one way or another."

Completely caught off guard by the answer, Arthur is reduced to fumbling for words. _What is he saying? This isn't Alfred. This isn't the Alfred that I… that I…._

Alfred moves around Arthur without further care, calling over his shoulder, "Now then, if you'll excuse me, _England_, I would prefer not to waste any more of my time in the presence of someone who'd most likely prefer not to be in my presence to begin with."

The manner in which Alfred stresses the name England both provokes and frightens Arthur all at once. At a loss for what else to do, he reaches for Alfred's hand, vying to keep him from walking away. Alfred stops, yet he doesn't look at him, urging Arthur to speak.

"Damn it, Alfred!" he cries fiercely. "You can't just say something like that, _especially_ after walking away last time and disappearing on me! If you would just hear me out—!"

"—I heard you loud and clear the first time, England," Alfred responds curtly while pulling his hand away. He finally returns Arthur's gaze, the sorrow in his eyes masked by his cold appearance. "You hate me. You don't want anything to do with me. And I suppose I deserve that, for what I said, regardless of whether I meant it or not—which I didn't. I love you, and all I want is for you to be happy. And if you hate me, then the only way for me to make you happy is to stop bothering you. There's nothing more to it than that."

There's no embarrassment in his expression or in his tone. All that remains is his look of heartbroken acceptance in his eyes as he turns briskly on his heels and walks away, his gait much too swift for Arthur to keep up with as he quickly rounds the corner and disappears from sight.

Arthur remains stagnant. It takes him a good while to process what had just occurred, yet once he does, his heart nearly falls to pieces. Alfred loved him. He _loved_ him. Didn't he just say that? Or was that all just an illusion? A fairy's trick?

_No, that was real. I fucked it up, didn't I? The one good thing I had... and I shot it down. Oh, Alfred, I'm so sorry._

He shakily takes a few steps forward, recalling last look in Alfred's eyes that was highly reminiscent of a kicked puppy. Before he knows it, he's running, trying to find any trace of Alfred in the halls. He needs to tell him... He needs to let him know.

_I love you too, you idiot! How could you ever think for a minute that I hated you?_


	3. Chapter 3

Unaware of the fact that Alfred has already left the building, Arthur spends his lunch break restlessly searching every possible place in the hall—even the ones that the American's body could just barely fit inside. Defeat weighing on his shoulders, he trudges back to the conference room, ignoring Francis' jeers at his worn appearance. He feels frail from lack of food and drink, and he finds it best just to slide into his seat.

He barely has the strength to look up as Alfred returns to the conference room a few minutes before the meeting is supposed to resume. Alfred pushes everyone away with that absence of light in his eyes, prompting a shiver on Arthur's part. Overwhelmed by guilt, Arthur keeps his gaze on Alfred, trying to get his attention.

_Did I do this to him?_

The American immediately finds his seat, sitting down and dispatching a set of cold looks at whoever even so much as glances at him—except Arthur. When Arthur glances at him, he doesn't bother looking in his direction. Instead, Alfred pretends not to notice him as he wonders why Arthur insists on stringing him along when he's already made his feelings quite clear.

This display of determination drives Arthur literally mad, and he can no longer take this song and dance anymore. With a large breath, Arthur stands up, realizing with a light blush that everyone's intense gazes are on him now.

"Good God, Alfred! Can we stop playing this game like children?" he cries, much to everyone's surprise.

Alfred's eyes reluctantly shift to Arthur as his name is called out in the middle of the meeting, and he frowns. "I have no idea what you're talking about, England. And please remember that this is a meeting—if you'd be so kind as to take your seat and remain quiet until it is your turn to speak, I'm sure that everyone else here would greatly appreciate it."

While Arthur flushes out of humiliation at his junior reprimanding him, Alfred immediately glares at any nation who dares even let out a quiet snicker, his expression so cold that it causes innocent bystanders to flinch.

Visibly stung, Arthur sinks back in his chair, shielding his eyes from Alfred. Alfred is quick to follow Arthur's movements, some of the coldness melting away when he takes in what was a presumably upset expression beyond Arthur's hands. Not choosing to take verbal action, he turns back to the nation currently speaking, wordlessly signaling them to continue where they left off before they were interrupted.

Once the nation in question continues to speak, Alfred hesitates slightly before slipping his hand into his pocket for his phone in order to create a new text message addressed to Arthur. "If you have something to say to me, then please wait until the meeting is adjourned," he writes. "However, if you're merely going to reiterate what you've told me before, then don't even bother, unless it makes you happy to see me suffer. Then by all means, continue to remind me that you hate me."

In the interval it takes for the message to arrive to his primeval phone, Arthur absently draws with his pen in order to keep the lump down in his throat. It feels like a length of barbed wire is cinched around his heart, mangling and twisting it. Arthur hates the way Alfred won't use his name. It's silly, but it feels like the final straw.

He gives a start when his phone buzzes, hardly ever using the contraption for more than a paperweight. Retrieving it from his bag, the Englishman scowls at the little print, reading the contents of a text message before flickering his gaze to Alfred, who remains stoic. Arthur's fingers jab back awkwardly at the keypad.

"I didn't mean that," he types. "I just wanted to get even. I don't hate you. I could never hate you. It's quite the opposite." His finger hovers for a minute before he finally sends the text, not wanting to see Alfred's look when it reaches him. Instead, he drowns himself in the current speech while waiting for a response.

Alfred is paying attention to the speaker and taking notes when he feels his phone vibrate in his lap. He glances down at the text, reading it with an impassive look before sending a much shorter response.

"Talk to me after the meeting. My place."

He goes back to paying attention and taking notes, not even glancing at Arthur, and most certainly not letting himself get his hopes up.

_His feelings got erased along with his memory... He's probably just saying this because he feels like I'm acting differently after he told me that he hated me. I bet he wants me to go back to acting like the fool so that he can feel like everything's normal again. ... If that's what he truly wants, then I will. But I won't like it._

Arthur gets his awaited response, his heart deflating at the short string of words. He sends a brief glance at Alfred, noticing how the other hides any trace of emotion from his face.

_I never knew how fragile he was_, he ponders, feeling much like a monster for doing this to someone he loved—especially because he lost control of his tongue and misjudged Alfred's intentions. _Usually he'd bounce back from this, so the way he is… it's my fault._

The rest of the meeting passes by in a blur. Or at least it feels that way to Alfred, anyway. He adjourns the meeting—him, not Ludwig. He makes sure to retain that small bit of power by sending a glare in Ludwig's direction that immediately makes him snap his mouth closed and sit back down. Satisfied, Alfred packs up his things, debating whether to wait for Arthur or to let him meet him at his house. He figures that if what Arthur has to say is so important, he'll catch up to him quickly, so he leaves the room.

On the other hand time is painstakingly slow for Arthur. Having spent the duration of the meeting trying to formulate a plan for what to say and how to approach the situation at hand, he now finds that he has nothing. However, Alfred is already way ahead of him, and Arthur knows, at the very least, that he has to stop him.

Quickly, maneuvering around Kiku and Yao, Arthur calls, "Alfred, damn it, will you just wait a tick?"

Alfred comes to a stop as soon as he hears Arthur call out to him, waiting for Arthur to catch up without turning around. Once he's sure that Arthur has caught up with him—or at least, has managed to get close enough to him—he starts walking again, keeping his pace slow enough that Arthur can keep up.

This is not enough for Arthur. He grabs Alfred's arm, staring him dead in the eye with a firm glare. Alfred feels his heart lurch painfully in his chest as Arthur grabs his arm, the feeling immediately bringing back memories he'd tried his best to push to the back of his mind. However, he reluctantly holds Arthur's gaze.

"Why do you insist on denying yourself what you want to hear?" Arthur demands. His expression softens, and he finds the motivation to continue somewhere inside himself. "_Listen_ to me. I'm a horrible person—this I already know. I… I am so very… I regret that I caused this, and that I changed you. I hurt you, Alfred. Didn't I?"

Alfred doesn't say anything in the very small interval Arthur allows between his words, and he knows he has to try harder with his words. With a deep breath, he tries one last time.

"... I'm… sorry," he murmurs. "You may never be able to forgive or forget what I said, but that's all right. Do you understand why?"

There is still no answer, and Arthur bites his lip, having reached the proverbial cliff's edge. All that was left was to jump off.

"When you told me you loved me, you sure caught me by surprise," he says. "I thought, never in an eternity would you tell me that you, well… I… I, too, that is… I love… you, Alfred. A-and I so desperately wanted to get back at you for what you said that I said those horrible things in return." He takes a deep breath, adding, "I take full responsibility for my actions. Whatever you would deem an appropriate response, so be it."

From the very moment Arthur begins stammering, Alfred's heart speeds up its beat until he is sure he is either going to be sick or explode.

_He… doesn't hate me? But I thought… N-no, that's right. He made me promise not to forget that he loves me no matter what he says. Arthur, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for doubting you, but I just…! _

His vision starts to blur, tears welling up in his eyes. "… You…."

Arthur watches with relief as Alfred's stoic disposition cracks, giving way to tears. He feels his own eyes sparkle as Alfred begins to speak, and Arthur nods while forcing the waterworks down. "Yes, me."

Alfred finds himself unable to speak around the lump in his throat, and instead he leans down and gently captures Arthur's lips with his own, his kiss brief but filled with every last bit of love and affection he'd been holding back ever since Arthur's memory was erased. His eyes reflect the same tenderness present in his kiss despite the tears within their depths, blue as the summer sky.

Arthur presses back in surprise at the sheer force Alfred is applying, as if there was something lying underneath the gesture. He pulls away in a desperate need for air, breathless and dazed.

"... Alfred."

"Thank God," he breathes. "I was so scared that you actually… that you…."

He's unable to finish his sentence, the tears finally starting to roll down his face as nearly a month and a half's worth of repressed emotions bubbles to the surface. He pulls Arthur into a hug, mindful of his strength but still holding onto him desperately as he speaks around his tears.

"It hurt hearing you say that. It hurt so much, that I just…," he trails off, shaking his head slightly. Despite his tears, his tone isn't upset. On the contrary, it's filled with joy, relief, and—above all—love. "B-but it doesn't matter! I love you, I always have loved you, and I always will love you no matter what you say to me, and no matter what you do to me. I'll never stop loving you no matter what."

The tears cause Arthur's to spill, and the Englishman struggles to swipe at every last droplet to no avail. He clings back as tightly as he can, wanting to be of some comfort after what Alfred had to endure. "… I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Alfred. I was certain you didn't feel the same, and it hurt to hear those words because I thought they confirmed it." He grips a little tighter. "It's always been you, idiot… I promise there's not anyone else."

Alfred can tell that the end is near for his tears as Arthur's words and touches soothe him. He can barely resist the urge to pick Arthur up and hold him as he'd done so many times after first finding Arthur in that parallel world. Knowing that acting too quickly may frighten the other man so quickly, he pulls away from the hug enough to gently kiss Arthur again, at which he only breaks away to breathe out an, "I love you." With that, he is kissing Arthur again, and again, and again, so euphoric to finally have his Arthur back in his arms that he's hardly even thinking straight. The only thoughts running through his head are gentle commands at how to handle the smaller man in his arms. Love Arthur. Be gentle with Arthur. Each of his kisses reflects both of these thoughts, as not a single kiss is hard or forceful, but is instead tame and brimming with affection.

Arthur relishes the attention, unable to find the mind to care about the fact that it is far too much to be done in the public sphere. All he can focus on is a strange sense of completeness that begins to take hold of him, as if some part of him had known this was on the way. He shrugs it off and kisses back, his hand brushing along Alfred's cheeks as he offers a small smile.

"Do you know how long it's been that I've been trying to guess your damn feelings?"

With a smile to match, Alfred places his hand over Arthur's and draws it up to his lips. "Probably for as long as I have, I'd guess," he says with a chuckle. "Though you didn't exactly make it easy. The only reason I never told you sooner is because I was never really sure whether or not you felt anything for me."

Arthur valiantly attempts to hide the fact that the gesture of chivalry had gotten to him, urging his blush to vanish. "I could say the same for you," he says softly, though not unkind.

His gaze softening, Alfred momentarily loses himself in the expression Arthur has on his face. It was so different from the looks he had been receiving from Arthur as of late. It takes every ounce of strength he has to tear his eyes away and glance around, as if suddenly realizing where they are.

"… If we're going to continue our discussion, we'd better leave and continue it elsewhere," he observes with a small laugh as Arthur does a double take at the empty halls behind them. "I'm sure that the guards want to lock the place up for the night, and we're probably holding them up."

"Everyone already left?" Arthur inquires. "I hardly noticed." Realizing how sappy that must have sounded, he clears his throat and buttons up his coat. "Yes, well, I'd like to get out of here, as well. I'm sick of these halls."

Still holding onto Arthur's hand, Alfred starts to lead the way out of the building, navigating the halls with ease despite how dark the halls are getting from the lights being off and the setting sun. "If you want to stay at my place for the night, you're more than welcome. We can go and grab your stuff from the hotel and take it to my place. Of course, if you'd rather stay at the hotel, I'll just take you there instead. … It's up to you."

"No," Arthur replies a little too quickly, his heighted consciousness to their clasped hands in the public eye getting in the way of his articulation. "It would be, erm, nice… to stay with you, that is."

This seems to be the answer the American was hoping for, as Alfred smiles and quickly begins to chatter animatedly. "Great! Then I'll drive us to the hotel so you can grab your stuff, and you can spend the next couple of days with me until you have to go home."

The two of them exit the building, Alfred waving to the security guard and briefly apologizing for holding him up. He leads Arthur two flights up in the parking garage and walks him to his car, unlocking it with the press of a button on his key for the both of them. Limbs sore, he eagerly climbs into the driver's seat while Arthur slips into the passenger's seat, relaxing against the leather interior. Alfred waits until Arthur is safely buckled up before steering the vehicle away from the building and towards the hotel.

Since the hotel is strategically located only a few streets away from the building in which the World Meeting is taking place, it only takes Alfred a few minutes to reach it's small drive up where the valets and bellhops rushed out to attend to guests. Alfred parks in front of the doors and turns off the car, noticing Arthur's slight unrest.

"I'll head up with you to help you carry your stuff," he says. "Unless you'd prefer for me to wait in the car?"

Worried that Arthur might be embarrassed if another nation catches the two of them carrying Arthur's bags out of the hotel, Alfred makes sure to give Arthur some distance as the other noticeably fidgets in his seat. Alfred himself doesn't mind nor care whether any other nations see the two of them together—in fact, he'd be more than happy to announce it to the world that Arthur is his and his alone, and that anyone who even thinks about his Arthur will wake up staring into the face of a LGM-30 Minuteman—but he knows that Arthur can get very self-conscious and easily embarrassed at displays like these.

"I don't mind if you come with me," Arthur begins. His hesitant expression warps into a scowl. "I just don't want Francis and his band of ninnies following us about. They'll want to come with us, and I'm much too exhausted to play babysitter at some pub tonight."

Alfred tries to mask the rush of relief that spreads across his face by getting out of the car, quickly moving around and opening the door for Arthur. "Then we'll just have to do our best not to let him catch us!"

Pondering that for a moment, Arthur worries at his lip, figuring that haste is their only ally at the moment. He thanks Alfred quietly as he opens the door, wishing that his jacket had a hood or something of the sort.

Watching Arthur near the doors, Alfred thinks to himself, _And if Francis and company do catch us and start bothering us, well… I have a shotgun and a shovel, and I'm pretty sure no one's going to miss them for the time it takes them to dig their way out._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **As you can tell, I changed my pen name. I did so to match my new account username on AO3.

That being said, I've set up a few links to a few of my other main accounts on my profile. I also edited Orchard of Mines a bit, as it's been years now since I edited it.

* * *

The two of them stride through the deserted lobby and down the halls, stepping into the elevator and riding it up a couple of floors. Luckily, it seems that most of the nations are either out or in their rooms asleep on account of jet lag.

For this reason, Arthur is very much untroubled when he reaches his door without having to see any familiar faces, fishing his room-key out of his trouser pockets. He swipes it into its slot in order to unlock the door, heading straight for his suitcase as soon as he sets foot in his room. He hopes Alfred doesn't notice the way the sheets are a mess on account of nightmares while he neatly packs everything up, folding his clothing from the drawers back into his bag. He grabs his toiletries from the bathroom and zips his bag back up once he has double-checked each part of the room for lingering items.

"All right," he says. "I'm ready."

Alfred returns Arthur's statement with a smile, responding, "Let's go."

He moves away from the door and into the room, picking up Arthur's suitcase with one hand and taking Arthur's hand with the other. Arthur returns the action with a hint of reluctance, and he has to wonder if this is surreal. It feels as if something is lingering in the far corner of his mind. He cannot place it for the life of him, so he opts to ignore it for the moment. It was, most likely, fatigue.

As soon as they are outside of the doorway, Arthur closes it for the final time behind them and double checks a list of his belongings in his head. When he is certain he has everything, they start to head towards the elevator.

Unfortunately, it seems that their good luck isn't meant to last. As the doors slide open with a resonating ding, the last three people either of them wanted to see step out of the elevator. Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert sport slightly flushed faces due to an undoubted overindulgence of alcohol, rowdy and highly entertained at the sight before them.

Arthur's calm expression immediately falls, and he mutters a, "Damn it all," while inching away slightly from Alfred in order to hide their intentions from the three idiots.

Alfred, for his part, barely suppresses a hurt frown as he feels Arthur quickly pull his hand away, knowing that the Brit obviously did not want to be seen holding hands. He lets it go with the conclusion that Arthur would need more time than just a few minutes to get used to the idea of people seeing them as a couple.

"Oh, and what do we have here?"

"I can't believe you two weren't shitting me! He's really dressed up in a suit!"

Gilbert grabs Alfred in a headlock and administers a noogie on his carefully combed hair, musing, "What the hell happened to you? Did you finally cave and let eyebrows start picking out your clothes for you or something?"

Alfred scowls, but before he can respond, the third of the trio pipes up, oblivious to Alfred's rising ire. From beside him, Arthur glares in irritation in the face of the babble, his gaze acidic in nature.

"I am not picking out his clothes, you idiot," he says to Gilbert first and foremost. "What business is it of yours what he is wearing? You lot can play fashion police with Feliks another time."

With that, he turns to Francis, sizing him up with a wrinkle of his nose. "And _you_," he begins, before concluding that the overpowering scent of wine was enough to suggest Francis was beyond the help of a lecture. "I needn't say anything more to you while you're like this. Get out of the way."

"Isn't that the suitcase Kirkland came here with? Why is Alfred holding it, I wonder?"

"Yes, it is. Could you be, perhaps... planning on staying with Alfred for a night of love and passion?" Francis pauses to allow for dramatics, drawing a hand to his cheek as if he were still embarrassed about these sorts of things. Batting his lashes to further the theatrics, he adds, "If so, maybe you'd have room for three more?"

Francis' words cause Arthur's cheeks to burn, his expression lethal in return. Nearly about to burst with rage, Arthur narrows his eyes, pursing hips lips with a fine arsenal of insults ready. However, as Alfred crosses in front of him and puts distance between him and the trio, Arthur's scathing reply is drowned out completely. Alfred's eyes are cold as he grabs Gilbert's arm and forces it away from his neck, allowing him to step in between the trio and Arthur with two long strides.

"I believe that you three had a bit much to drink tonight, and I'd suggest that you return to your rooms and get some rest," he says in a dangerously calm and controlled tone, his gaze rather calculating in nature. "Would you like me to… accompany you to your rooms to assure that you find your way there without any complications?"

Arthur blinks is surprise at the way Alfred's tone lowers, something dark lying underneath it… darker than the perceived threat of a Frenchman and his band of morons. It causes Arthur to grow nervous, and he spares a glance at Alfred out of worry.

_Something is off here. Something is definitely different about him. _

Ever oblivious, Antonio responds before Gilbert or Francis can stop him. "But we're not tired, we just came back here to drop off our jackets! And besides, this is more fun than sleeping!"

Alfred's frown deepens into a scowl, and he casually cracks his free hand's knuckles, obviously looking for something to take his pent up frustrations out on. Francis and Gilbert—the only two that were able to take the hint—exchange a nervous look, each of them grabbing one of their oblivious friend's arms and quickly dragging him away. As they exit the elevator, Alfred can here them tell Antonio that they'd go out later.

The elevator doors have already closed behind where the trio once stood, and Alfred releases an aggravated sigh, grumbling, "Fucking irritating dimwitted ignoramuses."

He just barely manages to stop himself from crushing the handle of Arthur's suitcase, which is still in his hand. Forcing himself to see reason, he uses his free hand to push the button to call the elevator back up to their floor. With another sigh, he attempts to calm down, entering the elevator with a smile at Arthur despite his lingering irritation.

"C'mon, let's go. The faster we get back to my place, the better."

"... Alfred," Arthur says evenly after what seems like an eon of silence on his part. "... Do you think I can't handle myself? That I'm incapable of defending myself?" He balls his fists. "I am not weak. You... You're _scaring_ me. What's gotten into you?" He looks up at him in concern. "All I want is for you to relax. You're acting as if something is going to attack me at any moment."

Alfred mentally curses as Arthur speaks—he'd reacted instinctively, forgetting for a moment that this isn't the same Arthur whose life depended on him for protection. Outwardly, he merely smiles, hoping to put Arthur's fears at ease without arousing any more suspicion.

"Of course you can handle yourself, Artie!" he offers, giving Arthur a quick peck on the lips. "Sorry, I probably went a bit overboard. It just pissed me off that they were talking about me that way, and that they were bothering you, too. Besides, I'm the hero, right? And the hero has to protect the people he cares about, so there's also that, too!"

Without another glance at Arthur's pale face, Alfred hopes that the Brit will buy these excuses and drop it… because he's honestly not sure what else he could possibly say that wouldn't give the events of the parallel world away.

Arthur simply frowns, detecting the subtleties in Alfred's movements and tone. He sighs, adding it up to paranoia on Alfred's part due to their long separation. Or rather, it was paranoia because of Arthur's words. Arthur heaves a heavy sigh, slipping his fingers back into Alfred's hold with a faint blush. His gaze darts away from the American, a thrill igniting in his chest.

_How long has it been...? How long have I been waiting for this?_ He closes his eyes in content with a wider smile. _I don't have to wait any longer._

Alfred smiles an honest smile as he can feel Arthur's small, slender fingers shyly grab his hand. Gently, Alfred entwines his fingers with Arthur's, the sensation of Arthur's hand in his own wiping the events of moment's prior from his mind. It's as if everything in the world had been righted in a few seconds.

_That's right, everything's normal now. Arthur knows that I love him, and he loves me back, just like before. He's not scared anymore, and he doesn't have those horrible memories. Everything is perfect. _

Arthur only throws a glance back at Alfred as the elevator comes to a rest at the lobby floor, and they exit together with a sense of calm. Said calm is disrupted once more, as Ivan and Yao pass them on their way back from the hotel bar into the elevator.

Alfred isn't embarrassed in the slightest, meeting Ivan's eyes for a brief second as the Russian smiles at him. Alfred narrows his eyes in return, as Ivan's smiles can range anywhere from "I'm happy" to "I'm going to kill you slowly and painfully," and Alfred isn't exactly in the mood to stick around and figure out where that particular smile fits on the scale.

As they draw closer to one another, Ivan and Yao can only blink in unison as they pick up on their hand holding. Upon realizing this, Arthur has to force himself to keep his hand in Alfred's. Fortunately for him, both Ivan and Yao choose not to make any comment except an awkward nod of acknowledgement.

With the way that Francis had handled it—and even Ivan and Yao, now—something told Arthur that _they_ knew he and Alfred had mutual feelings before the two of them realized it.

In desperate need of an escape, Arthur exits through the hotel doors, taking in a breath of the city air. "Ready?"

The fresh air—or as fresh as New York City air could possibly be, anyway—already makes Alfred feel slightly better, speaking a cheerful, "Of course."

He leads Arthur back over to his car, reluctantly letting go of Arthur's hand so he can take out his key and open the door. Arthur's suitcase fits easily into the trunk of the car, and Alfred drifts toward the passenger door in order to open it for Arthur. To his delight, Arthur runs his fingers along Alfred's arm in response, wordlessly thanking him.

Arthur eases into his seat, craning his neck to look at the rows of hotel room windows that extend towards the sky. Lights flash from all around him, and he closes his eyes with a faint smile. He was truly _happy_, and how long could it have been since he could say that?

He hears the driver's side door closer, snapping him out of his trance. He sloppily rights himself in his seat while clearing his throat, staying quiet as Alfred climbs in the car in order to start it and peel out onto the streets.

It takes a few moments to steel his resolve, but Arthur takes to watching Alfred from the corner of his eye, the street lamps that pass by at regular intervals illuminating his face. Arthur uncurls his fingers from where they are balled into a fist at his side, moving his hand to rest on Alfred's leg. He doesn't say anything, face burning as he tries to appear nonchalant.

The driver is only slightly surprised by the sudden hand on his leg, his eyes flickering away from the road for a second to take in the blush that he already knew was going to be on Arthur's face before he even looks. Alfred moves one hand from the steering wheel and places it over Arthur's hand with a wide smile. He forces himself to keep his eyes on the road as he continues to drive, nearly unable to contain the elated feeling in his chest as he looks forward to reaching his home with Arthur at the end of their drive.


End file.
